


Send Me Down

by sunfair



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Genderswap, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfair/pseuds/sunfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her relationship ends, Liam finds out exactly what Harry's been wanting to do with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send Me Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [words_unravel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/gifts).



> So embarrassingly late on this challenge! It's not even summer anymore!
> 
> This was my delightful prompt: _Harry/girl!Liam - Harry finds out that Liam's ex never went down on her and is determined to fix that mistake. It takes a while, but Harry finally convinces/seduces her to let him._
> 
> I hope I've done it some justice, albeit belatedly. Thank you much to [Bunnymcfoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnymcfoo) for the beta. Title from the HAIM song.

Liam isn’t even surprised when she gets dumped, which speaks volumes to how well her relationship with Andy was going. Her lack of surprise leaves a lot of room for other things though, like sadness and regret and anger, along with the sudden need to go for a run even though it’s nearly midnight on a Wednesday. The night doorman gives her a funny look as she leaves the lobby in her running gear, but as she exits he bids her a simple good evening.

The streets are quiet and Liam keeps the hood of her jacket up against the coolness of the night air, pushing her regular jogging pace until her lungs are burning, her thighs and calves protesting from the strain. It’s good though, it clears her mind, gives her a focus other than the relentless self-deprecating fear that she’ll end up alone forever.

It’s not until she’s turning the corner and climbing the gentle incline that she realizes she’s run all the way over into Harry’s neighborhood. It’s a route she’s taken many times, starting off on her own and then meeting him at the corner, where he typically struggles to keep up with her for another few miles until she takes pity on him and walks him back home. When she reaches the top of his block, he’s not there, of course. She slows to a steady stroll, and pulls her phone from the zipper pocket of her jacket, panting heavily as she texts him.

_hey u up?_

She reaches the gate of his drive before she gets any reply, and lingers for a moment. There’s no one else around at all, just the patches from the streetlights breaking up the dark and the quiet of parked cars. She’s about to turn back when finally her phone buzzes.

_was that a sext? are we sexting?_

Liam rolls her eyes. _gross. let me in i’m outside_

Harry answers the door in a pair of loose fitting, blue plaid pajama pants, the drawstrings hanging untied, and no shirt. His hair is pulled back into a tiny knot on the top of his head, his curls still wild around his ears. Somewhere inside the depths of his house there’s music playing, all jangly guitars and wistful vocals.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing tightly.

“Fine, yeah,” Liam replies, still a bit winded. She pushes past him into his foyer, the sweat rolling off her forehead, down the back of her neck between her shoulders.

“Just felt like running? At this hour?”

Liam strips off her hoodie. “Andy and I broke up.”

Harry’s mouth falls open in surprise. “What? When?”

“Couple hours ago,” Liam says, sniffing lightly and swiping at the sheen on her face with both hands. “Listen, can I grab a shower here?”

“Course, yeah,” Harry says. “Erm-- you should use my bathroom. The guest one is being remodeled.”

Something in Harry’s house is always being remodeled. 

Liam stays in the shower a long time, choking on sobs that she muffles into her hands, the bursts that slip past her fingers echoing against the expanse of slate tiles. If Harry hears them, he doesn’t say a word about it, greeting her when she finally emerges into his room with a pint of ice cream in each hand. Liam’s wrapped in a fluffy bath sheet, another towel wound tight around her head to contain her long, wet hair.

“So,” Harry begins. “We’ve either got fudge brownie, which is very good,” he explains, holding up the container in his right hand. “Or-- and I’ve not tried this yet, but I’m told it’s quite nice as well, strawberry-banana with, like. Bits of chocolate mixed in.”

Liam smiles a little, endeared. “Could I possibly borrow something to wear?”

“Oh right, yeah,” Harry says. “Of course.”

They end up eating directly from both pints of ice cream, sat in Harry’s huge bed, watching old reruns of The Office. Liam’s seen most of them already, but sat side-by-side with Harry, shoulder to shoulder and reclined against a stack of pristine pillows, legs tucked under the fluffy white duvet, she finally starts to feel sleepy. Harry mutes the television as they finish their third episode, and the room is suddenly very quiet.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Harry asks.

Liam shrugs slightly. “Not really.”

“Well,” Harry says, “if you do…”

“Yeah,” Liam says, tipping her head to rest against Harry’s shoulder. “Thanks, Haz.”

The opening sequence of the next episode starts in silence.

“He never seemed to like me much,” Harry says.

“You never liked him, to be fair,” Liam replies. Her stomach turns with confusion at her automatic defensiveness.

“Yeah, well,” Harry says, then goes quiet again.

Liam waits, but Harry doesn’t continue. “Well?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, but his tone betrays him.

Liam lifts her head to look at him. His green eyes are wide when they meet hers, and his lips are set in a thin, serious line. 

“It just seemed like,” Harry says, swallowing lightly. “Like he made you sad, sometimes.”

“Relationships are work, Harry,” Liam says, a little stung. She shifts, putting some space between them.

“No, I know--” Harry says, and he reaches across to trace her arm, finding her hand. “I know they are. I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to talk about it--”

“I don’t.”

“I’m just saying. I’m on your side, okay?”

Liam sighs softly, but curls toward him, fitting herself into his arms for a hug.

“And hey,” Harry says, half-mumbling into her still damp hair. “We leave for tour a week from tomorrow. It’ll be incredible.”

Liam presses herself closer, soaking up Harry’s warmth and his enthusiasm. “I hope so.”

“It will,” Harry says. “Trust me.”

She falls asleep with Harry holding her, solid and secure with his chest pressed to her back, his arm curled around her. Liam wakes up after only a few hours, blinking blearily at the clock on Harry’s bedside table. It takes her a moment to remember why she’s at Harry’s, a new wave of heartache washing over her. She breathes in deep, letting it out slowly, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest. Harry is breathing slow and steadily behind her, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and when she realizes she’s not going to fall back asleep, Liam tries to slip from his embrace, carefully moving inch by inch. Harry wakes up anyhow, his arm flexing around her middle.

“Hm?” Harry hums, and Liam slowly turns over onto her back.

“Can’t sleep,” she whispers, blinking up at the ceiling.

Harry hums again, sounding sympathetic, his hand stroking her belly in small, soothing circles. She’s in Harry’s t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, the fabric of the shirt bunching up under Harry’s touch.

Harry’s leg slips over hers, tucking between her thighs. 

“Can I help?” he murmurs, his hand going still.

Liam turns her face to look at him. His eyes are closed, his features soft and relaxed with sleep, the long sweep of his lashes falling over the tops of his cheeks. He looks so peaceful and comfortable, his lips full and plush, and Liam is suddenly overcome with gratitude. She distantly recognizes that she’s probably being overly emotional in the middle of the night, but Harry’s always been there for her, steady and unwavering, and kinder than she probably deserves.

There’s no pause between Liam’s urge to kiss him and her movement to make it happen, closing the distance between their faces and pressing her lips to his, firm and lingering. She closes her eyes, taking a shaky breath in, and Harry pulls back, his eyes wide open when she looks at him again.

He doesn’t say anything, just searches her face, his hand twitching where it rests against her t-shirt. Liam moves in again, nearly reaching him, but pausing just before their lips touch. This time Harry closes the distance, sighing soft and short when his mouth meets hers.

They kiss like that, slow and soft in the dark, until Liam’s pulse kicks up and her cheeks flush warm. She ducks her head, tucking her face against his collarbone. His arm around her flexes slowly, holding her close, and he drops a kiss into her hair. Liam takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself, to settle the wild clip of her heart.

*

The world, predictably, goes on regardless. Liam keeps going to rehearsals, never misses a workout, and only cries for a couple of minutes after Andy stops by to pick up his things and leave some of hers, four whole years fitting into a couple of file boxes. She packs up her life for tour, and flies halfway around the world.

Harry doesn’t mention the kissing, and neither does Liam, but any miniscule fears she harbored that it might make things awkward between them dissolve quickly. Harry is still Harry, constant as ever, all dumb jokes and lumbering hugs and stability, and Liam starts to wonder if he even remembers that it happened.

Their first night of tour far exceeds Liam’s wildest expectations; the crowd is a boundless sea of energy and by the time they finish the encore her face actually hurts from smiling. She’s still breathless as they’re whisked away into the waiting van to be ferried back to their hotel. Everyone’s absolutely buzzing, Niall and Louis and even Zayn, all of them going on and on about how massive and loud and incredible it was, how lucky they are. Liam feels like she could burst from it all, nostalgia and gratitude and accomplishment swelling in her chest, pushing tears into her eyes.

“I just love you lads so much,” she says suddenly, choking a little at the end, the truth of it overwhelming.

She’s met with a chorus of reciprocations, sympathetic aww’s, and a pile of hugs. Harry half-climbs over the seat to get to her from behind, folding his long arms around her, and Liam swallows against the tightness in her throat, reaching back to close her hand into Harry’s sweaty mess of hair.

“This is all I’ll ever need,” she says, and then Louis pinches her thigh and tells her to stop being such a sap, and Liam laughs a little, swatting at him.

For the first few shows the feeling doesn’t subside; Liam is still blown away every time at the magnitude of it all. She thinks there should come a point where she’d be used to it, but it just never happens. She texts her mom and her brothers and her friends, and she doesn’t text Andy, and she doesn’t hear from him either.

Which is all fine and good, until she and Harry end up kissing again.

“What are we doing,” Liam murmurs into his mouth, keeping her eyes closed. If she looks at him again, she might not be able to have a conversation.

It’s somewhere on the other side of four in the morning, and Harry’s in her hotel room, and they fell asleep together again, and now she’s kissing him. Again.

“Kissing?” Harry whispers back, like it was a quiz question.

“Yeah but,” Liam says, swallowing. “What… why?”

“Erm,” Harry says, tensing a little. “Do you not want to?”

Liam opens her eyes. “No, I do.”

Harry pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, meeting her gaze. “Good. Me too.”

Liam expects Harry to really go for it then, to kiss her relentlessly, but if anything, he’s especially gentle when their mouths meet, the hand curled at her hip carefully tightening.

“We can stop,” Harry says. “If you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Liam admits. “But kissing is nice.”

“Kissing _you_ is nice,” Harry says with a grin. “I wasn’t sure it would happen again.”

Liam doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just tilts her head and lets Harry kiss her, until she’s flushed and buzzing and the morning light behind the hotel curtains seeps in, hazy gray.

*

The next day is, in a word, awful.

Liam’s alarm yanks her out of a strange dream, and her first few hours of wakefulness are muddled with lethargy and confusion. Soundcheck is a mess, her workout is useless, and somehow the fans finally get word of her breakup, so any foray into the internet is a bit like stepping onto a mine field. She’s baffled at how or why anyone seems to bother with speculating about her personal relationship and the cause of it ending, and especially stunned when #wesupportyouAndy trends on twitter. It’s excruciating, the temptation to defend herself, to tell everyone to mind their own business, to recreate in text form the bits of their final argument that Liam can’t forget, no matter how much she tries. To ask everyone if they’d stay with someone who said those things.

On top of that, she discovers that the shirt she’d planned to wear has a huge hole in it, about twenty minutes before they’re due on stage.

Liam actually yells in frustration, a garbled, senseless shout that accompanies her hurling the useless shirt across the dressing room.

“Whoa-- hey, what’s the matter?” Harry says, appearing in the doorway.

Liam looks him up and down. He’s wearing two plaid button-downs and a t-shirt beneath them.

“Give me your shirt,” Liam says, extending her hand.

Harry looks down, bringing his hands to his chest. “Which one?”

“Any of them,” Liam says impatiently, and then, “please?” a little kinder.

Harry strips down and ends up tossing her his t-shirt, a simple black v-neck. Liam pulls it on over her tank top, the fabric warm and smelling strongly of Harry’s cologne and deodorant and aftershave. After some tucking and tying, it doesn’t look half bad with her jeans.

“Thanks,” she says as Harry re-buttons one of his flannels, starting at the bottom, stopping less than halfway up.

“Sure,” he replies. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I will be,” Liam says.

She spends the entire show surrounded by Harry’s cologne, the scent of it appearing and reappearing as she jumps and moves and runs around on stage. When she sits during one of the interludes, she lifts the neckline of the shirt up, tucking her nose into it, inhaling deeply on purpose.

Later, when she’s alone and showered and sitting on her hotel bed in her pajamas, the room feeling huge and empty and too quiet-- and her heart about the same-- she sends Andy a text. All it says is “hi” but she regrets it immediately, wishing for some way to undo it for every minute that passes without a reply.

She goes to Harry’s room with the excuse of returning his shirt to him, and he pulls the door open in wordless invitation. His laptop is sitting open on the side of the bed where the covers aren’t tugged back, and he shuts it, tucking it away in its bag on the floor.

“Are you busy?” Liam asks. “Were you chatting with your family or something?”

Harry grins at her and drops onto the bed. “No. What’s up?”

Liam hesitates a moment, and then climbs onto the bed to join him, sitting with her legs folded, facing him. 

“I--” is all Liam can manage before her throat closes off, tears welling up in her eyes. She covers her mouth and her nose with her hand because she hates the way her face looks when she cries.

Harry leans forward, sliding a hand across the bedcovers, reaching for her. “You need a hug?”

Liam nods, taking a shaky breath, moving herself closer, until Harry can reach her and draw her up into his arms.

When she’s calmed down some, helped along by the slow sweep of his hand from her neck to the base of her spine, he pulls up his Netflix and finds them some stand-up comedy to watch. Liam stays until she starts to nod off, and Harry wakes her gently.

“Hey,” he says quietly, sweeping his thumb against her cheek until she opens her eyes. “You wanna stay? Or go back to yours?”

Liam doesn’t even have to consider it. She stays, and Harry disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes before returning and shutting out the lights. When he slips into bed beside her, she presses herself against him right away, her mouth finding his in the darkness, pulling him close.

It’s different now, insistence and urgency replacing the lazy, unhurried kisses from times before. Liam can’t seem to get close enough, to kiss Harry hard enough, arching up against him as he moves on top of her, his hands running from her sides, down her hips, stroking her thighs. He murmurs her name into her mouth and Liam whimpers in response, unsure if it was even a question.

She draws her knees up, her legs folding around his hips, and he groans, rocking against her. His head drops to her shoulder, and he leaves a trail of kisses along her neck until his lips meet her ear.

“Want you so much,” Harry says softly, his voice low and strained, his breath heavy. “I wanna make you feel so good.”

He keeps rocking his hips, and Liam can feel him, the hard length of his cock nestled against her, pressing right between her legs, just a few thin layers of fabric between them.

“Yes,” Liam responds.

“Will you let me do that for you?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Liam says again. “Yes-- please, Harry.”

He shifts back, putting some space between them, but moves quickly, tugging her pajama bottoms and underwear down using both of his hands. Liam flushes a little at her sudden half-nakedness, thankful for the darkness. She reaches down and pulls her own top up and off, maneuvering a little to work it up over her head. Harry moves close again and Liam’s just about to mention the need for a condom, but then he’s ducking down, pressing a kiss just below her ribcage, moaning against her skin, sending a shiver through her.

Harry runs his hands up the insides of her thighs and starts to kiss lower, ducking below her navel, his lips wet and warm and Liam suddenly realizes what he’s about to do, squirming wildly to bring her thighs together again, nudging him away.

He looks up quickly, dropping his hands away, and Liam sits up partially, pulling back.

“I don’t-- you don’t have to do that,” she says, breathlessly.

“Sorry--” Harry says at the same time, then again when Liam finishes. “Sorry, I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Liam says in a rush, her knees still pressed tight together. “Really. It’s fine.”

Harry’s looking at her, a little bewildered, and Liam kind of wants to find somewhere to hide. 

“We can just--” Liam begins. “I mean. We can still-- you know, and. You don’t have to-- do that.”

Harry’s expression turns thoughtful, contemplative, and then he moves up alongside her, tugging the bedcovers with him, tucking them around her as he settles close, meeting her gaze.

“Have I ruined it?” Liam says, clinging to the covers. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I.” 

Harry shakes his head slowly. “You haven’t ruined anything,” he says, then takes a deep breath before he continues. “But I think, maybe… we should chat a bit? If you want. So that I’m not, y’know.” He swallows, frowning slightly. “Making you uncomfortable. Inadvertently.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Liam counters. “I’m perfectly comfortable, and happy to continue. If you still want to.”

“Can I ask you something?” Harry says, and Liam bites her lower lip slightly.

“Sure.”

Harry’s face is so close to hers, and he just looks at her for a long moment.

“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to, but,” he begins. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to?”

Liam tilts her head at him, her brow furrowing a little. “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “It’s just--” She hesitates, feeling her face flush warm, glancing down at the bedsheets. “I know guys don’t really like to do that.”

Harry’s mouth twitches, his eyes going a little wider. “Why do you think that?”

Liam shrugs a little, looking away. “I just know.”

Harry’s hand finds hers. “Well. What if I told you that I do?”

“I’m… not sure I’d believe you, to be honest.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, bemused.

“Because,” Liam says, shifting a little, anxious. “Isn’t it-- you know.”

“Hm?” Harry’s fingers twitch between her own.

“Unpleasant?”

Harry’s expression goes serious, and he searches her face. Liam looks away, feeling her cheeks flush again.

“Is that what he told you?”

“Who? Andy?”

Harry nods, humming affirmatively. “Is it?”

Liam shakes her head a little. “No-- I don’t know. I don’t remember.” 

There’s a long enough pause that Liam knows that Harry knows she’s not telling the truth.

“Didn’t he ever…?”

Liam brings her hands up to cover her face. “Do we have to discuss it?”

“No,” Harry says plainly. “We don’t.”

He kisses the back of her hands, one and then the other. She peers at him from between her fingers. He looks-- wistful, maybe, but not angry.

“It’s not unpleasant, though,” Harry says quietly. “It’s really not. I happen to enjoy it quite a bit, actually. And if you’ve never tried it, well. You might be surprised.”

Liam slides her hands down enough so that she can look at him properly. He’s smiling at her a little, his expression sincere. Liam thinks about his mouth, how amazing it feels on her own, and she squirms a little, thinking about it elsewhere.

“I think--” she says, pushing up onto one elbow. “Maybe I should just. Go back to my room.”

Harry’s face falls, but he nods a little. “If that’s what you want.”

*

They don’t discuss it again, Harry never brings it up, but over the next week or so it becomes the only thing Liam can think about. She starts to notice everything about Harry’s mouth, the way his lips move as he bites into an apple, the way his tongue darts out to catch an errant drop of juice. He chews gum almost every day, and it drives Liam crazy, from the moment she watches him folding the piece onto his tongue, until he discretely tucks it into a napkin later on.

She watches him smile in interviews and in pictures with fans, stares at him while he takes long gulps from his water bottle, and follows the slide of his fingers when he swipes them against his lips. Her mind wanders to filthy thoughts that have her crossing her legs tight in her seat, and asking for extra ice in her drinks so she can crush it between her back teeth.

Liam's not good with being alone, and she's never been much of a masturbator. She was not very experienced when she started dating Andy, but she always believed they had a normal, healthy relationship, for the most part. During their four years together, they split a couple of times, and Liam tried hooking up with random people, half-drunkenly snogging and groping. But none of that, or them, really did much for her. She can get herself off when she really needs to, but it’s never quite as fulfilling as she’d like it to be. The reality is that she wants-- needs-- physical intimacy with someone she knows, and trusts, and she's perfectly fine with that.

The hotel pool is beautiful, all patterned tile and oblong curves, and blissfully empty except for the guys and some of the crew. Liam takes the opportunity to sit on the edge and slide her feet and legs into the cool water, stretching her toes out as she swings them back and forth a little. The sun is directly overhead, making her shoulders and arms tingle with warmth.

She watches as Harry and Niall take turns jumping and diving into the deep end, daring one another with increasingly complex flips and jumps, and making everyone laugh when they fail to accomplish them. Eventually Harry paddles toward her, ducking beneath the surface to swim underwater the last few feet. He surfaces right in front of her, his fingers curling around her ankle. His hair is plastered over his face, a ridiculous wet curtain that he pushes aside with his hand.

“Hi,” Harry smiles, blinking away the water from his eyes. “Did you see that backflip?”

“I did,” Liam smiles. “It was terrible.”

Harry drifts to the edge of the pool right beside her, folding his forearms on the tiles, turning his head to look up at her. His eyes squint against the sun, and the tips of his fingers brush the outside of her thigh. Liam thinks it’s an accident at first, but then he does it again, dragging them down and up, slipping slightly.

“Not coming in?”

Liam shrugs a little. “I like it right here.”

“Missing out,” Harry says, his lips curling into a grin. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Maybe in a bit, then,” Liam says.

Harry slips back into the pool, away from the edge. Before he swims away, his hand slides against the back of her leg, from the swell of her calf to her ankle. It’s brief and subtle and shouldn’t make Liam’s skin bloom into goosebumps, but it does.

*

They have a night off and Niall wants to go out. He starts his mission to convince everyone to join him as soon as they’re all awake, and Liam makes uninterested faces at his relentless encouragement, right up until the very last time he asks, standing in her hotel room doorway, doing a ridiculous little dance in his boxers. Liam rolls her eyes, but grins.

“C’mon Liam,” Niall says, hopping back and forth from one foot to another. “The night is young. We’ve got table service, VIP. It’ll be fun.”

“Eh,” Liam says, skeptical. “I dunno.”

“Give me three reasons why not. Good ones.”

“Who else is going?” Liam asks, folding her arms, leaning against the door.

“That’s not a reason,” Niall points out. “But erm, so far, it’s me, Josh… and you.”

Liam purses her lips a little, considering.

“Come on,” Niall grins. 

“Alright,” Liam agrees. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“We’ll be in the towncar at the back entrance,” Niall says, and hurries away down the hall, to put actual clothes on, Liam hopes.

She wears a dress that Caroline picked out for her, that she hasn’t had an occasion to wear yet. It’s short and dark blue and shimmery, snug around her hips, with thin straps that accentuate her shoulders. Liam’s still a bit unsure about her own makeup application skills, but there’s no time to find Lou, so she keeps it simple with a shimmery gloss and a little bit of mascara. 

When she ducks into the waiting towncar, Niall and Josh are already there, sat in the seats facing her. Liam tugs the door shut and grins.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No worries,” Niall says.

“You look nice,” Josh smiles.

“Thanks, you too,” Liam says, pinching the hem of her dress and tugging it down a little. “Why aren’t we moving?”

Before Niall can answer, the door opens again, and Harry ducks into the car, sliding in beside her. The knees of his dark jeans are cut through with fraying rips, and his shirt is held together by only one button. 

“Hi,” he smiles, and when he shuts the door, the car starts to roll forward.

The club is busy, but not stiflingly crowded. There are just enough people to give them the illusion of a bit of anonymity. Liam hasn’t been out dancing in a long time; she used to go quite a lot with Andy at home, and on the road she sometimes goes out with Niall or Louis, but having Harry along is new. 

Harry takes it upon himself to attempt to invent cocktails from the components of their VIP table service. He’s working on something involving vodka, pineapple juice, ginger ale and a slice of orange when Liam leans in.

“What are you doing?”

“Dunno yet,” Harry replies, the corner of his mouth turning up in a grin. He twists the orange slice with his fingers, dropping it into the drink, and then swiftly tucks each of his fingertips into his lips, licking them clean one by one.

Liam has to avert her gaze, gnawing at the edge of her fingernail, glancing out over the crowd. She needs to go dance.

“Here,” Harry says, handing her the drink. It now has a bright pink straw in it. “Let me know if it’s terrible.”

Liam grins a little, taking the drink from his hands and pinching the straw with her thumb and forefinger before taking a sip. It’s fizzy and sweet and citrusy, with a hint of spice behind it from the ginger ale.

“It’s good,” she grins.

“Yeah?” Harry says, his eyes lighting up. “Good.”

She tries to hand it back but he shakes his head a little. “I made it for you.”

“Oh,” Liam says. “Thank you.”

A moment later, Niall tugs her up out of her seat to go dance. She looks back at Harry, raising an eyebrow in invitation. He just grins fondly at her and settles back into the booth.

Liam dances until her drink is gone, then goes back for another. The club starts to fill up a little more, and Liam convinces Harry to join her, the two of them stepping and swaying to the bass-heavy dance tracks. When Harry moves in closer, hands on her hips, Liam drapes her arm around his shoulders, smiling when he pulls her against him.

It’s easy enough to get lost in it, the dark of the dance floor cut through with flashing lights, the music loud enough that Liam feels it in her chest. She dances with Harry until she’s warm and flushed with exertion. She pulls her long hair up off her neck, holding it briefly with her hands, her skin slick with a thin layer of sweat.

Harry’s shirt is still more than half undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His lips are pink when he smiles at her, his eyes bright when the lights catch them. He keeps close and never stops touching her, his hands on her back, her arms, her hips. Liam has another drink, and then another and another, until she loses track of time, and until suddenly they’re moving toward the door, flanked by security leading them out and into the waiting car again.

Her head spins a little even after she’s settled in the seat, and Liam closes her eyes for a moment. Niall and Josh are laughing, and her ears are still ringing, and she doesn’t realize she’s tipping sideways until Harry catches her.

“Careful,” he murmurs as Liam tenses, righting herself again. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, holding her hand to her face, trying to get the spinning feeling to subside.

“Here,” Harry says, and when she opens her eyes, he’s handing her a bottle of water.

Back at the hotel Harry accompanies her to her room, but lingers at the doorway once they go inside.

“Aren’t you going to stay?” Liam asks, leaning heavily against the wall as she pulls her heels off one by one.

“I could,” Harry replies, which isn’t really the answer Liam was hoping for.

She’s not sure what to say after that, so she crowds Harry against the door, tugging his shirt up at his waist as she leans in to kiss him. He holds loosely to her shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of them, his kisses careful and measured. Liam sighs softly, impatient, and pulls back.

“Don’t stay then,” Liam says, taking a step back.

“Liam,” Harry says quietly, reaching out for her. 

The room starts to spin along with her thoughts, and she sways as she retreats, catching herself with a hand on the wall when she stumbles.

“Whoa, hey,” Harry says, and he’s right there again, helping her with a hand around her waist, leading her into the room.

“I’m fine,” Liam insists, but she doesn’t pull away again, just lets him walk her to the bed, where she drops down heavily on the end.

Harry finds her pajamas for her and it’s too easy for Liam to just let him take care of her, to get her changed into sleep clothes and settled into bed with a glass of water on the nightstand. Liam closes her eyes and hopes that when she wakes up she doesn’t remember any of this.

Unfortunately, she remembers all of it-- right up to when Harry flicked the last light off and left the room.

She has to check her itinerary to find out where she’s supposed to be. She has just enough time for a shower and breakfast before she has to leave. There are a handful of press obligations in the morning, but then a couple of free hours before soundcheck. 

Liam conjures up enough feigned enthusiasm in the interviews when questions are directed specifically at her. There’s only one about the end of her relationship, and she manages to smile and deflect it, explaining how her priority and energy is all about the tour. Zayn is sitting next to her at the time, and he subtly reaches over to touch her arm afterward in reassurance.

Harry is sitting on her other side, and he doesn’t look at her once.

Liam finds a quiet corner during the break before soundcheck, curling up in a lounging chair with her phone, earphones in. She’s in the middle of replying to an email from her parents when Harry finds her, stepping in close and crouching down, holding onto the arm of the chair for balance.

Liam tugs one earphone out, shifting her gaze to his. He bites his lower lip, blinking owlishly at her. He’s got a headband on, some wild length of floral fabric twisted and knotted around his head.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he says quietly.

Liam looks around; the room is big, but empty and quiet. It’s just her, Harry, and a bunch of furniture. “Okay,” she says, sitting up a little, turning her phone face down on her stomach. “About what.”

Harry glances away briefly. “Last night, for a start.”

Liam feels her face go warm. “Right. About that.”

“I only left because--”

“I was annoyingly intoxicated, I know.” Liam purses her lips apologetically.

“Erm, no,” Harry says, and he shifts a little, moving to his knees. There are at least a dozen chairs in the room and he’s kneeling next to her. “I mean-- you were, you know, tipsy.”

“Right.”

“But so was I,” Harry says. “That’s not why I left.”

Liam watches him carefully, catching the flash of pink as his tongue darts out against his lips, leaving them shiny. It leaves her a bit lost for words, and the silence stretches on for a moment.

“I think about-- you,” Harry begins, his voice going even quieter. “All the time. I try not to, but.”

Liam’s heart starts to knock heavily in her chest. She doesn’t dare move; even her breathing seems too loud an interruption.

“When I do,” Harry says, pausing again. “Well. I think about putting my mouth on you.” 

Liam nearly squirms at the deep pang of pleasure that rockets through her, but manages to stay still, even as it settles between her thighs in a heavy ache.

“I wanted to last night.” Harry’s voice lowers yet again, going thin. “And I still want to, actually.”

Liam inhales slow and shaky. “Oh god,” she breathes, closing her eyes.

“I know you think it’s-- wrong, somehow,” Harry continues, speaking slowly. “But I’m pretty sure-- given the chance-- I could probably change your mind.”

Liam flushes just at the idea of it, her thighs tensing. She opens her eyes but can’t quite meet his gaze again.

“I promise I won’t mention it anymore,” Harry says, and Liam looks up. “But the offer is there, yeah?”

“Harry,” Liam says, her voice small. 

“Hrm?”

Harry bites his lower lip, his eyebrows raised in question. Liam isn’t even sure what she wants to say, she just doesn’t want this to be the end of the conversation.

“Do you have plans for later tonight?” Liam asks.

Harry shakes his head a little. “Not especially, no.”

Liam nods a little. “Okay.”

“Stop by if you want,” Harry says with an easy grin. “We can watch more episodes of The Office.”

*

Liam talks herself into and out of actually going to Harry’s room at least a dozen times, right up until the point where she’s standing there with her hand raised to knock on the door. When she finally knocks, it takes Harry a long moment to answer, long enough that Liam starts to think maybe she got it wrong somehow. Eventually the door opens, and Harry’s in a loose white t-shirt and a pair of drawstring sweatpants, his face flushed, his eyes narrowed against the harsh light in the hall even as he grins.

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat. “Come in.”

“Did you fall asleep already?” Liam asks, amused, making her way into the suite. 

“No,” he replies. “I was just…” Harry gestures vaguely. “Meditating.”

It’s dim inside the room, only a small lamp on in the corner. Harry has a candle burning on the desk, the cinnamon scent of it lingering, and his yoga mat is open on the floor. Liam pauses, a little awkwardly, glancing back toward Harry as the door clicks shut.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt or anything,” Liam says quietly.

“Don’t be silly,” Harry replies, and with a click of the remote the television surges to life. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Liam toes off her shoes, drops her handbag, and climbs onto the bed to settle in.

They decide on a movie with their tea-- a sappy rom-com that Harry seems excited to watch-- and share a small package of biscuits saved from some recent flight. It almost feels like home, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry in bed, his long legs stretched out beside hers. Liam all but forgets that she even has anything to feel nervous about.

By the time the credits roll, she’s tucked up snug against him, warm and comfortable. He’s got a hand resting on her thigh, and neither of them move until the very end.

When Liam finally lifts her head from Harry’s shoulder, he takes the opportunity to stretch a little, and pushes his long hair back from his face.

“Do you think you want to stay?” Harry asks. It comes out casually, but Liam knows it’s a loaded question.

Her heart rate kicks up, but not only from nerves this time. She looks at Harry, and his eyes are bright, big and hopeful as they meet hers. His hand tentatively finds her thigh again-- the inside of it just above her knee-- and it sends a jolt of excitement straight through her.

Liam nods a little, her gaze flickering from Harry’s eyes down to his mouth. “I think so, yeah,” she says, her voice low and quiet.

Harry flicks the television off, making the room quiet, darker. Liam blinks a few times, trying to get her eyes to adjust, her own breathing suddenly sounding loud in her ears.

“C’mere,” Harry says, and it’s more a gentle suggestion than an imperative. Liam’s not entirely sure how to get much closer, but as she shifts to try, turning toward him, Harry’s arms fold carefully around her, and he hauls her right into his lap.

Liam settles with her knees bent and sits right on Harry’s hips, clutching at his shoulders. He’s warm and his hands span her lower back, strong and solid through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, just above the waistband of her jeans.

“How’s this?” he asks, and all Liam can do through her haze of want is nod her head a little.

When his lips meet hers, Liam swears she goes weightless, a rush of excitement racing through her, making her shudder. Harry kisses her over and over, his mouth warm and familiar, sweet with the lingering traces of his sugary tea. Liam tucks her fingers up into the sleeves of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin, tracing the curve of his shoulders. Harry flexes his thighs as he pulls her closer still, chest to chest, a low groan rumbling from his mouth into hers. She shifts her hips just a little, parting her thighs even further, pressing down where she can feel him growing harder. The dull ache inside her sharpens as Harry groans again.

Liam traces the swell of his lower lip with her tongue before pulling it between her teeth, and she knows suddenly and undeniably in that moment that she wants him; she wants his lips and his tongue and his fingers inside her. She wants it so much that she can’t imagine why she ever possibly thought she didn’t.

Harry has his hands splayed over the back of her jeans, and Liam whimpers a little, leaning back enough to lift her t-shirt up and off. Now that she’s made up her mind, she sees no point in delaying any further, and reaches back to unhook her bra, finding Harry’s hands there. He links his fingers with hers, stopping her, and meets her gaze.

“What?” she says softly, breathless, searching his face.

“Are you good? Are we-- is this okay?”

“Yes, obviously,” Liam replies, fond but a bit impatient. “C’mon,” she encourages, squirming a little in his lap.

“You’ll tell me, though?” Harry continues, his fingertips working the clasp of her bra undone. “If you want to stop?”

Liam shifts quickly to work her arms out of her bra straps, nodding slightly before kissing Harry again, hard. He touches her face, fingertips and then the palms of his hands at her cheeks, and the kiss slowly tapers.

“Promise me?” Harry murmurs, his lips slick against her own.

“I promise,” Liam says.

Harry still takes his time with her, lays her out on her back, the top of her head nearly reaching the end of the bed. He covers her with his body and kisses her until she forgets how to breathe, his hands moving constantly against her skin, tracing her curves and the lines of her limbs. He pauses to tie his hair up into a knot, biting his lip as he grins down at her. She laughs a little as she watches him and can’t even explain why, buzzing and giddy with excitement. Harry just joins her in it, softly chuckling through their next kiss.

By the time he’s taking her jeans down, he’s lost his own t-shirt, and Liam knows-- can feel how wet she is, a little flutter of nerves in her belly disrupting her excitement as she’s left in just her underwear. She picked out the dark red satin when she got dressed earlier, and she watches him carefully, watches his gaze linger at her hips as he strokes her thighs.

Harry folds forward and drops a kiss just below her ribcage, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Liam tries to steady her breathing, her heart pounding hard in her chest. Harry shifts lower, pressing his lips in a path to her navel, and curls his fingers against the satin at her hips, easing it downward.

Liam’s thighs quiver slightly when Harry settles between them again, his shoulders bare and broad and pressing her legs open. She watches him turn his head to kiss the inside of her thigh, lingering, and Liam flushes as his gaze drops and he stares right at her.

The room is still mostly shadows, and Liam’s not sure how much he can actually see of her, naked and open and wanting him. He touches her first with his thumb, gentle pressure that increases slowly, tracing up and down her labia, making her breath catch as he slips against her slickness. Then he draws a circle around her clit, and Liam gasps, moaning at the jolt of pleasure that makes her shift, trying to part her thighs even wider.

Harry holds her open then and brings his mouth to her and slides his tongue against her, broad, slow strokes with the buzz of his low moaning behind them, and Liam can’t stop the sounds that she makes from it, choked-off whimpers between desperate breaths. Harry’s tongue feels _so_ good, wet warmth and consistent pressure, and every lingering insecurity and uncertainty of Liam’s dissolves away.

Harry explores her with his tongue, licking into her and pushing it deep, bringing his thumb back to her clit, keeping the circles slow enough that she whines desperately. He takes the hint and switches back again, this time flicking his tongue against her as he slips a slender finger inside her, easing it in.

The coil of tension low in her belly begins to build rapidly, and faster still when he slides his long finger in and out of her, dragging the tip of it against her as he pulls it out, pressing back in again and again.

Liam tucks her hands into his hair, watching his mouth move against her, breathing harder and faster and digging her heels into the mattress as he keeps going. She stops trying to stifle her sounds when she feels her body giving over, when there’s nothing left but the hot pulse of Harry’s tongue and the perfect press of his touch inside her. Liam comes and then keeps coming, impossibly long and deep as she grabs hold of his hair, tugging enough that she pulls the strands right out of his hair tie.

Afterward-- when she’s all involuntary quivering, still coming back and trying to catch her breath-- Harry crawls up and kisses her throat, and then her chin. He looks half-wrecked, his mouth all pink and shiny and it makes Liam shudder, one last aftershock rocketing through her.

“God, you’re incredible,” Harry says, the words tumbling out in a breathy rush.

His eyes are dark and serious and Liam can feel him, straining in his sweatpants and pushing insistently against her thigh, his hips shifting just enough to get some friction. He ducks his head until their foreheads touch, his hair falling forward. Liam’s still not sure she can form words, but she curls a hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close and closing her eyes while they share air.

“I want--” Harry begins, his voice falling to a whisper. “To make you sound like that all the time.”

Liam grins shyly, keeping her eyes shut. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, the suggestion of a groan behind it as Liam runs her hands along his back. “I’ll do it again, if you want.”

Liam blinks, and Harry’s face is too close for her to focus until he draws back slightly.

“You mean right now?”

Harry nods, pinching his lower lip in his teeth. Liam squirms a little, still tingling and boneless, and Harry starts to shift downward, dropping slow kisses against her skin, keeping his gaze on her face.

“Oh--” Liam says, taking in a sharp breath as Harry’s warm lips meet her nipple, arching at the sensation. “Oh god, okay, yes-- _yes_.”

*

Liam didn’t even know it was possible to lose the ability to move-- much less put a sentence together-- just from an hour or so of sex. She thinks maybe up until now she’s been doing it wrong. Harry quietly excuses himself to the bathroom to clean up, get rid of the condom probably, hopefully bring back some water. Liam nods with a vague wave of her hand as he wanders away.

Her eyes drift shut and she can’t quite stop smiling, the light buzz of satisfaction singing through her limbs, settling solidly between her hips. She’s still lying the wrong way round on the bed, but cannot bring herself to care.

When Harry returns, the mattress dipping with his weight as he stretches out alongside her, Liam opens her eyes slowly.

“Hi,” Harry grins. He looks more fond than smug. “How was that? Was that alright?” 

Liam stutters out a laugh, short and light. “Yeah, Haz,” she murmurs, her heavy eyes drifting shut again. “I believe that’ll do.”


End file.
